


branded in the moonlight

by beatrixfranklin



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Period-Typical Homophobia, as always, barbara gilbert is baby, i just love a lowercase title and fic summary <3, this has proper grammar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatrixfranklin/pseuds/beatrixfranklin
Summary: trixie arrives home to yellow paint across the doors and steps of nonnatus.no matter what happens,patsy musn't find out.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 12





	branded in the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisexualtrixiefranklin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualtrixiefranklin/gifts).



> this is an idea i brainstormed to my bestie b (ao3 user bisexualtrixiefranklin, shes a talented icon and im sure you have read her works but if you haven't- you're missing out big time)
> 
> after watching 4x3, i suddenly had the very vivid image of nonnatus house being branded in the same way tony amos' house was, as we see when patsy arrives to deliver marie's baby.
> 
> i hope you like this, it's got some rather sad undertones but barbara gilbert is a tiny angel and trixie is a protective big sister, so hopefully their dynamics save it a little! 
> 
> please let me know your thoughts and feelings on this piece, i always love reading comments <3 
> 
> ily all! and thank you for reading!

Bleary eyed, back from Mrs Roberts, so exhausted she almost misses it. 

Almost. The toxic yellow of the paint curling its way across the front door is unmistakeable from the bike sheds as she tucks her trusty bike back into its spot. 

_ Queer.  _

Inexcusable, dripping at the edges, hastily smeared upon the wood, edging onto the brick. 

Trixie swallows the lump growing in her throat. Pushes against the door, avoiding the fresh yellow the best she can as it glistens in the porch light. 

She doesn't know who to call for. 

The Roberts' baby has ensured her return is in the midst of the darkness, with no dawn in sight. 

Sister Julienne. Steadfast, the one she's supposed to report to, she thinks as she unbuttons her mac. She can't possibly. A woman of the cloth, an older one at that. The deliberation rules out half of the house. 

One thing remains clear in her uncertainty, the one thing she promises into empty air as she unloads her tools. 

Patsy musn't see it. 

The other nurse would insist she didn't need shielding, that it didn't bother her.

_"Water off a ducks back."_ She'd chirp, before settling back into the rhythmic scrubbing of an already sterile countertop.

But it isn't. She hears the way Patsy cries when she thinks nobody else is present, Trixie smells the foreign perfume as Patsy throws her scarf at her as she laughs tipsily at her. 

So Patsy can't see it. Because if Patsy sees it, she will think she isn't safe, and Trixie knows she's only just beginning to call Nonnatus home, and if Patsy thinks she isn't safe, she will run, like she has before. 

She's already awake. She'll deal with it. 

Though perhaps the fatigue is an unfavourable companion. 

A thought she'd certainly have, had she been able to hear her own musings over the angry metallic clang of the bucket against tile. 

"Trixie?" 

The other one she really ought to be protecting, though for entirely different reasons. 

"Barbara? It's alright, it's only me." 

Barbara steps forwards, against Trixie's wishes. 

"What's happened? You're covered in- is that _paint_?" Barbara whispers, holding her robe closer around herself. Trixie looks down, seeing the yellow smears that have somehow made it onto her boil-wash skirt.

A rather bitter analogy. 

Trixie sighs. 

"If I show you something, you must promise you won't tell the others." 

"Trixie? What have you done?" 

" _I_ haven't done anything." 

Before Barbara can react, Trixie is taking her gently by the hand, leading her to the door. 

" _Oh_." 

Trixie watches the brunette take in the angry scrawled letters, eyes wide with an innocent naivety that makes Trixie's chest burn. 

"Why would they write that?" 

Trixie draws her bottom lip between her teeth, pressing her eyes shut so tightly she sees stars, willing the universe to change, to send her anywhere but here. Her knowledge of Patsy is heresay- well founded, rather obvious heresay, yet there's no real evidence. Lying to Barbara is like a knife through the heart, but she'd rather her arteries severed than the girl sleeping soundly upstairs, unable to defend herself at present. 

"I don't know." 

"I'll fetch some water." 

"Barbara, you're in your nightgown." 

"Duty calls, Trixie. The nuns will be up soon." 

It's said genuinely, though there's a lightness, a warmth that Trixie is grasping for, yet when it is presented it makes her feel queasy. Barbara has disappeared before she can react. 

  
  


"Do you think this is because of Mr Amos?" 

Barbara holds the brush between delicate hands as Trixie swills away suds and angry yellow. 

"What do you mean by that?" 

"Because we helped him. Well, his wife, mostly, but- we weren't doing anything _bad_. Just our job." 

" _We_ know that, sweetie. But not everyone is as forward thinking as we are." 

"It's a shame." 

Barbara works away a particularly tough patch of amber that's drying into the grain of the wood. Trixie can't bear to look up at her. If she does, the tears will escape, and she can't have that, because she won't have an explanation for it. 

"I think we've got it all." Barbara says, stepping back to take in the entire door. 

"Thank you." Trixie says, gently. 

"Of course. You couldn't do it all by yourself." Barbara replies with one of her signature sweetheart smiles. She shivers against the cold early morning. 

"You should go and get some sleep. I'll finish up out here." Trixie says as she approaches the closest storm drain, letting soap and mustard stained water flood down, away from sight.

"Goodnight." 

She can't reply. The lump in her throat chokes away the words. 

The clicking of the door leaves her alone once again. She takes a seat on the concrete steps, taking no heed of the warmth seeping into her skirt. It's bound for laundry either way. Slowly, she lets the crisp air fill her lungs, though she's still stifled by the sight she arrived home to. 

With nobody to ask why, she leans against the wall of the steps and finally lets her heart break. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was a oneshot concept but honestly i could make it a two parter <3 feel free to lmk what you think!


End file.
